Fool's Love
by merchant-of-venice
Summary: Bram Stoker wrote "Dracula," but his account could be inaccurate. Afterall, he only visited the tiny village of Atkozott. The tiny village terrified by the nobleman with abnormal powers. Nyajas is a girl who lives in the village, and she knows the story.
1. Chapter One: Atkozott

**_Fool's Love_**

_Chapter One Atkozott_

The "poet" had white shock on his face as Mama tried to talk to him in our language. As though it never occurred to him that some people did not know anything about English, and never would. But our town is different; most of us are too poor to be educated. Atkozott is a village entirely of peasants, supposed to be ruled by the nobleman, and ruled we are.

But we are more hunted.

I was asleep when the Irishman arrived, and Mama had to wake me so I could speak with him; I am the only one in all of Atkozott who knew how to talk in English. When I was very young, an English ambassador came through Atkozott on his way to the Embassy, when he decided to mingle with the commoners. Like we wanted to be mingled with. 

He suddenly became enlightened, and decided to pick one of us barbarians to educate.

My mother says I have a charming countenance because of my beauty; that is why she gave me the name Nyajas. Apparently my anya was right, for the ambassador was very taken with me; I was a young child and he greatly loved my innocence and beauty.

So I was the one.

And I was hated for it by my fellow Transylvanians.

"Nyajas, teljesen éber!" Mama's smokey voice trickled into my ears, interrupting my dream – nightmare. Although I had never seen the nobleman- the devil Count, as he's better known in Atkozott- he was constantly in my dreams – nightmares. Usually he is just watching me with sad eyes, but this time I was greatly disturbed...the count was beckoning me. I would have to tell Sir Helsing. But I was ashamed...because the Count was beckoning me and I...— 

Wanted to come to him.

"Anya, please stop shouting-." Groggily I complained as Mama shook me awake.

"Come now,cukorka," My anya cooed. "You sleep too heavily. I had to raise my voice. You must learn to sleep lighter; you know what evil dwells in the night. You must be alert even in sleep..."

"Yes, Mama," I agreed. She was right, but my nightmares about the Count make me feel like I am underwater, so deep, but warm....

I need to talk to Sir Helsing, no matter how humiliating.

"Come now, cukorka," Mama repeated. "The Irishman has arrived and you must speak to him."

If the Count came here for me, he would have to murder my Anya because she would fight with such a fury. I can't let my Mama die...

I stumbled down the narrow hallway as Anya spoke harshly of the Englishman. Apparently he had not been very courteous.

Mama is the head of a Boarding House, not a very successful one, for no tourist wishes to be in Atkozott, but we are not as poor as some...we will always have food, and that I am most grateful for. Sometimes we squeak by because someone is unable to pay the rent, but that only happens when one really, honestly, is unable to pay. My Anya is as wise as the legendary King Solomon! She somehow can always tell when a person truly cannot pay, and when they are lying.

My Anya seems like the kindest Anya in all of Transylvania! I do not really take after her in looks: she is shorter than I am, and..._bigger_ than I... _rounder_. She's...pudgy. Only a little! ...Well, not really. Forgive me, Anya. I mean no offense. I have my Atya's eyes, my Atya's height, and my Atya's accent. Needless to say, I am very similar to my Father. Atya died while I was living with the Ambassador. I don't remember him much. He was a doctor, and died of some disease given to him by a patient. Anya cries whenever Kroki says the Count's demon women took him and drank his blood. It isn't true; Anya was at Atya's side when he passed. She sent me the letter, telling me so.

I hate Kroki; but most people are afraid of him. He claims to be the Count's servant, and he goes on and on about how the Count will reward him for his obedience. Kroki's hair had long since gone gray and wild, his eyes pale, skin pale. His chipped, broken horn rim glasses added even more to his "insane" look. He is mad. I hate him for the things he's said. Not just to Anya, but to everyone who has lost someone to Halál- Death, even more so to the victims of the Count and his demons. Kroki plays off our fears and nightmares. I hate him. I wish that the Count would---no; I cannot wish such a death on anyone. Even Kroki.

Anya opened the creaking door to where we normally stood behind the counter. The newly arrived Irishman had a beard, and the mustache seemed to droop from his abrupt culture shock. He seemed like a tough, fierce man, but seeing him in such a state stole away that presence. Mama was mad at him, so she jittered on in the language he could not understand; I held back a giggle as I noticed most of her talk was not even real words. What had the Irishman done to make her so angry?

I hushed Mama, and began to speak in the language the Irishman could understand.


	2. Chapter Two: István Helsing

_Chapter Two_

_István Helsing_

"Excuse me, sir," I began. "Can I help you?"

I watched as relief swim over his white face.

"You speak English?" He asked, glad to hear something familiar. I paused, for a moment; this man spoke differently. He spoke the same language, yet it sounded different from the way the Ambassador talked.

"Yes," I said. "Do you wish to rent a room?"

And yet I sounded different from the Ambassador too. I thought I was that way because I was unintelligent. He nodded. I pulled an old ink pen from the drawer under the counter, and opened the log of the boarders' names.

"Name, please, sir?"

"Stoker, Abraham...and who might you be, lass?"

I looked up from the log. Sir Stoker looked dazed.

"I am Nyajas," I whispered, humbly.

"Nyagas," He said incorrectly. "A beautiful name, very fitting for you, lass."

"Thank you," I muttered. Anya noticed Sir Stoker's dazed face, and leaned forward, whispering in our language,

"Your történik charm has ensnared the fat man."

"I don't mean to have a történik charm, Anya..." I said softly, rather irritably as flushing red flew to my cheeks.

"I know cukorka," Mama cooed again. "You've had it since you were born."

The történik charm...when I explained it to the Ambassador he laughed and waved his hand,

"You mean a 'Come hither' charm? My dear, you are not a witch! Such a sweet innocent woman as you could not be of the devil."

But the other beautiful girls of Atkozott do not draw eyes and men as I do. The Ambassador said it was the ways of my people to be superstitious, but I was under no spell nor did I cast a charm I could not control. I believe the Europeans simply are not superstitious enough. Which reminded me-

"...Sir Stoker, I must caution you. There is a..." I tried to think up a way to put it so that he would not cast it aside as superstition.

"Yes, young lass?" He smiled with his glazed eyes.

"The nobleman of our village lives in the south," I began, pointing out the window. "In the castle, there. He is a horrible man. He murders at night, sometimes stealing men to torture them for as long as they will survive... You must be incredibly alert at nightfall; do not go outside, and do not speak to any strangers..."

"A murderer? Who is he?" Sir Stoker's face was twisted in unbelief.

"He is a Count. Please, Sir Stoker, do not go out at night and stay alert," I begged, leaning forward in my urgency. "He can creep into houses and through locked doors."

"...How? How does he-he do this? Why don't the authorities arrest him?"

"There is no one who will help us," I said. "Just, please, be very careful. It is horrifying to find who he has murdered."

"Nyajas! Megszüntet!" Anya suddenly interrupted. She must have been able to guess what I was talking about.

"Mi, Anya?" I turned to her, knowing I was caught.

"You were talking about the ördög Count," She said, her face's color fleeing. "You know such talk is forbidden. Do not speak such a wicked name."

"Anya, I did not say his name," I said, quietly. "I would never say his name. But the Irishman needs warning or else he will-."

"It is none of our business," Anya said sternly, her eyes shrinking in fear. "It is God's will."

A frightening thought hit me. Perhaps the Count is beckoning me because of my constant warnings to visitors...he loses a feed because of my talk. The Count is beckoning me because he wants rid of me. If he comes to take my soul he will murder Mama as well. Sir Stoker looked like a smart man. I gave him enough... I cannot let Anya die because of me. But then the Irishman will die because of me as well. I swallowed my tears, and took a key from the hooks. Sir Stoker is an intelligent man; he will see the signs, and understand....

"I will show you to the room, sir," I said in a disguised sob.

"Lass," Sir Stoker started gently, his eyes glazing over again. "Forgive me if my questions have upset you..." My történik charm has caused him to forget all about the Count. Now he will die, and it truly is my fault...

"No, sir," I said, returning my voice to normal. "It is not you." Oh, Atya...I am so terrified. Always.

Because we are hunted.

A scream awoke Atkozott at dawn.

The butcher, Kövér, and his wife were dead, and the filthy remains of three cattle were scattered in the pen. All of the animals were gone. Választ, Kövér's son, later found the remaining sheep, lambs, goats, etc. miles and miles away. No one acknowledged what had made them flee.

Everyone already knew. Even Sir Stoker.

Kövér's yard was covered in salt and holy water, and the house was burned down. All of the villagers crowded into the church and said prayers for hours before returning to their day.

When I would pass the ruins of Kövér's house on my way to the bakery, I would need to cross myself, as everyone else did. No one spoke of the murder afterwards.

The houses in Atkozott are mostly made of stone or wood. Many rickety iron staircases lead up to apartments over stores, or stores over houses. Shops are few, we only have the essentials: bakery, grocery store, Apothecary, and a day ago we had a Butcher shop. There is also a stable where carriages and horses are bought and rented.

We are a small town, but somehow he always finds a feed. Oh! My thoughts had wandered to him again.... Which reminded me of Sir Helsing.

"Anya, I am going on the errands," I called after breakfast as I opened the door to leave.

"Mi, Nyajas? So early? The sun is still too low! The outside is still too dark!" Mama called, frightened, hurrying out of the kitchen.

"It seems bright enough, Mama," I said. I wanted to hurry and get my outside time over with. My anya frowned at me for a moment.

"You may go," She said.

"Thank you, Anya," I replied, turning to leave.

"Wait, cukorka," Mama said, and then called, "István!" My cheeks blushed red again.

"Oh, Mama, no...you do not need to call-."

"Igen?" Sir Helsing's reply was heard from the second floor. He was one of the few boarders in Mama's boarding house. I heard his footsteps on the stairs, and soon he was standing before us. In the early sunrays sweat twinkled on his forehead, his cheeks rosy as though he had been running.

"Would you mind escorting my Nyajas on her errands?" Anya said, putting her hands on her hips. "She insists on going early, and I am afraid it is still too dark." István turned his handsome head too look out the small window.

"I can assure you, Margaréta, it is safely bright enough, but if you still wish me to go with Nyajas, it is no bother," He smiled.

István Helsing was a very handsome man of thirty years. His Transylvanian parents were living in Amsterdam when he was born. They soon moved back to Atkozott, how, I have no clear idea; we are trapped here, cursed to never be able to leave.

I have listened to him talk to Anya about his past, and I must be slightly mad to have memorized it all.

István's hair was brown, a dark brown but still brown, which is very strange, but I think it to be the most wonderful color hair could be. His eyes were so dark they seemed almost...purple in the sunlight. It seems impossible that such a man as István has not yet married by his age, but our town Atkozott is against him. István has studied the ways of the Count and his kind. He knows when he might come and when someone is being fed on each night, but not to the point of death. The people used to listen to him, and heed his words despite his young age, but István was rejected and loathed when he could not save Apollónia.

The villagers said she too had the történik charm, but István, who has a great knowledge of such things, says that it is not nearly as powerful as mine. I had been a good friend of Apollónia, and she was the most gorgeous woman my eyes had ever seen. She was like a goddess, the way she walked, the way she spoke, and so compassionate. Although, one year, her skin began to fade, her eyes were pale, worse than Kroki's. She had become very ill, and no longer wished to move from her bed.

That was when they called for István. Easily, he made his diagnosis; Apollónia was slowly being attacked by the Count. István said that he was probably planning to turn her into what he was. István put up all of the items to keep the Count away and restored Apollónia's blood as often as he was capable but he told me that by the time he had started, it was too late. And so eventually, Apollónia died. They buried her in a beautiful ceremony. And now, no one believes Sir Helsing. They hate him, and spit on him. Soon after Apollónia's funeral, a mob burned Sir Helsing's small house to embers. Since then he has lived with us, although it has caused Anya a lot of customers. It does not matter; István Helsing is a very good family friend.

"I very much appreciate it, István," Anya said as we walked out of the door.

But now it was inevitable.

"Not at all, Margaréta," Sir Helsing replied, over his shoulder.

I was going to have to tell Sir Helsing about my dreams- _nightmares_.

I will face my humiliation....

To save Anya.

And myself.

...If only we could escape, and leave Atkozott forever.


	3. Chapter Three: The Speech Of Kroki

**Chapter Three **

The Speech Of Kroki

István has been to the border before. He says it gets colder as you get closer, but then it is not even as freezing as winter is. The wall, which blocks our escape from Atkozott, is made of ice. Thin and transparent ice, so we can see the other side.

Mockery.

It never melts.

And yet the wall never causes Atkozott to freeze over.

"Works of the devil," the priest called it.

He took the journey with István and the some other men from the village, to try to destroy the wall, yet again. When István touched it, the ice began to freeze over his hand, and up his arm, trying to pull the rest of his body into the wall; it took the strength of the whole group, the dogs, and the horses pulling the wagon to pull him loose.

Visitors not native to Atkozott can come and go as they wish; they see no wall of ice, for they were not involved in the curse, some cruel loop-hole. The oldest, wisest man in the village told us of the Count's unholy covenant with the devil, the one that made him the evil that he was.

"The devil promised the demon that he would always have prey," The old man wheezed. "We are the prey, we shall fuel that evil creature, and all of our descendants. There will always be Atkozott, so there will always be the ördög Count and we can never leave. One should rather die than become the strength of such wickedness."

"...Can't we ask one of the visitors for help?" Someone sobbed.

"No," The old man sighed. "He has cursed our tongues so that we speak a different language, and as ignorant peasants...no educated man would teach us..."

But what the Count had not anticipated was the great change in our generation. In his arrogance, he thought us to remain lowly peasants forever, and that the only people who would be educated would be the Nobles, and no nobleman would educate a person of lower status. The great gifts I received from the Ambassador was not expected. But still Atkozott hates me, and will not allow me to ask the rare visitors for help. They have told me that if I speak of the Count, or plan to foil his doings, more people will be killed. They told me I was the cause for several deaths that occurred after I returned from the Embassy. I have no doubt it was my fault.... Kövér's death was might fault, for that night I had tried to warn Sir Stoker.... I know my intelligence is evil, but...it makes me happy. I would not want to lose it.

So, perhaps I am evil too. Perhaps my wickedness is the reason for the Count's pursuit of me.

Two slips in the unholy covenant remain unclear for me: why visitors do not see the wall, and _how_ István's family traveled to Amsterdam, then, 12 years later, returned him to Atkozott. ...Perhaps István's parents gave themselves as a sacrifice.

Upon the group's returning unsuccessful, Mama innocently asked István if he knew how his parents had gotten through the ice wall to travel to Amsterdam.

Quickly, a sobbing mob formed around him. I remember vaguely, István had been around 15 at the time....

"I...I don't remember," He said awkwardly, slightly frightened. "I wasn't even born until we had arrived...I don't remember traveling."

Kroki had no desire of escaping Atkozott, or for any of the rest of us, for that matter. I believe that he only brought out his horrible little voice so he could spread ill will.

"But you were a boy of 12 when you returned..." Kroki hissed.

István has told us that he had gone to bed in Amsterdam, with nothing out of the ordinary, he only heard the doorbell ring just before falling into sleep. He woke up by the well in the town center of Atkozott, his parents gone. He honestly did not know.

When the flood of people heard this, they quickly turned violent: breaking things, pushing, shouting angrily. Young as I was, I tried to pull István to safety, but the crowd was so large and fast, István ended up shoving and locking me into the quiet serenity of Sára and her son, Máté's, Apothecary (István had a key because he was staying with them). Máté's mother was ill at the time, so Máté and I were alone, while the once crackling campfire roared and swallowed the whole forest.

I turned away sobbing when István was knocked to the ground. Máté rubbed my back in a gesture of comfort. In all of the chaos, the Apothecary window was smashed, and that was how I received the scar on my ear; Máté was watching, so he saw it coming and was able to get us out of the way of serious injury.

István's arm ended up pulled out of socket, scars now run up and down his arms, and twirled across his chest. His ankle smashed; now he walks with a slight limp.

So Atkozott hated István Helsing. Many lives were lost to the Count before they decided to trust him. And that was only because Sára, the healer, was saved by him. The water cooled to a simmer.

When Apollónia died, Atkozott's pot returned to an overflowing boil.

All of these dark hate filled memories boiled in my own pot of thoughts when Larjen and Kashna tackled us as István and I entered the alleyway.

The morning had been peaceful, free of the familiar shrill screams, which were well known as the aftermath of the Count. I had just suppressed my dignity for nobility and courage so I could speak to István regarding my dreams, when those lumbering buta men pounced.

I know István:

Had I not been with him at the time, I doubt he would have shouted and cursed the two men as he did. He wouldn't have fought has hard as he did. István is the complete opposite of weak, physically and emotionally, but I am afraid he believes that he deserves the persecution he receives from the villagers. He thinks so because he failed to save Apollónia.

I do not remember much about the brawl, a dirty fist, headaches, and shouts. I felt a horrible force meet my head, causing the scene before me to rattle like Anya's wooden beads did when she ran up the stairs. Larjen and Kashna were cursing rapidly at István and me, though I had done nothing but shout and wiggle. Larjen and Kashna always use the filthiest words, on Sunday, to women, to children; they were the pure essence of ignorance. Larjen was rather scrawny but surprisingly fast and strong; Kashna had deep set blank eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a long scar across his cheek and forehead from a previous interaction with the Count. I felt sorry for Kashna because of his very traumatic experience, and I felt pity for Larjen because of the fact that he truly was alone in the world...

But I felt no pity for either of them at that moment. I wanted to slam their faces into the snow.

Gladly, I would have.

István pulled me up roughly and grasped my arm tightly as he shouted accusations of cowardice for attacking a young lady who should be protected, as all women should be.

"You have a bruise on your head," He said once his business was done and his gentle, quiet manner had returned. He reached out his arm to gently touch a pain near my temple. Instinctively, I brushed his hand away.

"Forgive me," István said softly. "I am a doctor, I must see if it is a concussion..." Carefully he touched the bruise, and I felt a shrill of pain, which made me jerk slightly. Next he looked at my eyes, asked me to follow his finger with my gaze.

"Your pupils are very dilated," He sighed rather wearily. "Which is a first sign, but everything else seems fine." He told me to come to him if certain symptoms came. István was not formally educated, but he learned basic medical skills by watching, and the books he read in Amsterdam and the ones I brought him from the Ambassador.

"Do you wish to return home?" István asked, putting a sympathetic arm around my waist as we walked out of the alley. "I will complete the errands for you."

"No..." I said, my cheeks reddening again as he gently guided me. "I want my time outside." István nodded understandingly.

"114," János growled impatiently.

"114?" I asked, shyly in distress, sighing slightly under the weight of the vegetables I was purchasing.

"114," He affirmed, coldly.

"...Sir János, your sign says that one through six pounds of vegetables are only 55 today," I said timidly.

"Sir János, I do not wish to cause trouble but you cannot-," István began to softly argue but I touched his arm to quiet him. A moment of silence passed, as János' eyes grew wide the longer he watched me. I watched as the történik charm clouded over the shopkeeper's face.

"Don't worry about the price, drága," He said to me, smiling dreamily. "Go ahead and take it for free."

And the same thing happened at all of the other shops that we stopped by. István did not comment; he could sense how uncomfortable I was with it all. I felt slightly ashamed over my small joy but now Anya and I will have more money for other things we needed. I am surprised; usually when the wives of the shopkeepers see me enter, they take control of the till and force me to pay extra, but today they were no where to be found.

The történik charm works differently on women; since they cannot be physically attracted to me, once they fall under they treat me as a very dear daughter, but it takes much longer to cloud their senses.

Cloud senses.

Influence – change – judgment.

I really must be wicked. It makes me sad. Perhaps I deserve to die as a victim of the Count.

I may not be _so_ wicked, because I do feel ashamed of who I am. I must have some good in me somewhere- despite the történik charm- if I feel awful over my wickedness.

For a reason unknown to me, István is unaffected by the charm for longer than anyone else. Most of the time, he treats me like a real person and not as some pretty porcelain doll who stands on the shelf in a room of a mansion. I suppose it might be because he spends so much time with me, he might have grown some kind of immunity...?

But occasionally, rare as it is, I see that familiar dreamy look and even if I said, "I have a talking wart on my bottom," he'd just nod with a smile. Even then, it only lasts a second or so.

It breaks my heart to see him fall under my charm. Sometimes I have to leave the room when he's that way because of tears blocking my vision.

When I was younger I would sob whenever anyone fell under. Although I could not understand it, I knew something was wrong. Now, as a young woman of 18, I understand. No one will ever love me because I am kind, thoughtful, funny. I am thankful for my gift of beauty, but whoever marries me will not have chosen of their own will. If they had not fallen under my charm, they might have met their true soul mate.

Then they could be happy.

But with my curse, I am ruining the man's life, his partner's life, and all of the children who would have descended. I would be destroying the family.

I would rather be...alone.

For my entire life.

I will never marry.

Oh, it turns me cold! I am so frightened, so frightened, of being alone. I have always been alone. I wish to be loved! The love I have experienced so far in my life has been fake, a fool's love. Even my dear Anya...

I love István. But I can't be with him, even if he feels the same way. If I have to, I will explain to him...or I could claim celibacy. I will do it for István, his future wife, and their children.

I will be the flickering candle on their dinner table, watching. Watching and wishing.

The love I have received with the történik charm is a fool's love.

Will I never be loved? Perhaps I deserve this fate as a punishment for my wickedness.

The Ambassador educated me, and yet all of the villagers in Atkozott know more than I, for I will never know love.... Then, how do I know if I love István? Is...my own love a fool's love?

The shopping was done as quickly as was usual, and István insisted we cross town center, because he did not want to risk my safety in the alley, incase Larjen and Kashna came back. But crossing town center meant we would have to deal with crowds and Kroki; long ago he had claimed the empty well for his own home.

"Once more into the breech, dear friend," I sighed with a smile. "Or fill up the hole with our outcast dead."

"...What?"

"It's from Shakespeare," I said, my smile vanishing and my cheeks blushing.

"Shakespeare?" István grinned slightly, watching the ground. "Who is he?"

"...A...playwright." Only the world's greatest. Oh, I hope I did not cause him shame just because I knew what he did not...my mouth says what my mind thinks...

István gently took my hand as we began to walk. A sun rose in my chest, and no matter how I discouraged it, I could not put it out. As we approached the well, since Kroki was not standing on the steps ranting, we expected him to spring up out of the well, as he did often to catch passerby off guard. But no such thing occurred.

Once we had passed the well peacefully, István sighed with relief and released my hand, "It seems we won't need to fill anything with our dead."

"Perhaps Kroki has decided to take a day off..." I said.

But we were wrong in both our thinking—

"Nyajas..." István frowned slightly as he looked at me. "Your head is bleeding slightly from Larjen's hit..."

--Kroki had been wandering the village—

"We must get home so I can treat you..."

--looking for _me_.

As we began to walk again, I felt someone wrench me back by my long hair. The force caused me to swirl around and fall to my knees, whacking my already aching head on the stone rim of the well.

It was an odd feeling, as though my head was in a tank of water. The voices around me were muffled and there seemed to be a bluish fog before my eyes. I was out of my body, floating. I was only a cloud passing over the scene. I laid my head down upon the ground, cobblestones breathing their cold breath on my face. Where I was, what was happening, seemed very far away, on the horizon. My eyes closed as sleep cloaked me.

Eventually, I felt someone gently pick me up, and carry me...somewhere. Perhaps it is the man I will marry. The man who will not love a fool's love...the man who will carry me away from Atkozott. Away from the Count.

Husband, is that you?

..."_It seems we won't need to fill anything with our dead." _

"_Perhaps Kroki has decided to take a day off..." Again, they began walking, slower, more at ease. _

_Behind them, someone was approaching. Wheezing, panting, chipped glasses glinting in the newly risen sun. István turned as a scraggly hand reached out, grasping a handful of Nyajas' dark hair. Quickly he jerked her backwards and she fell to the ground. As head met stone a sickening crack broke the air, silencing the crowd around them._

_Kroki reached out again but was instead smacked across the face and retained by István. _

"_Master!" Kroki screeched. "Your bride awaits you! She has heard your midnight calls, master! She—." Another rough smack quieted him as he stumbled backwards, babbling on in a husky whisper. _

"_She is the ördög's seductress!" A man stepped out of the watching crowd, pointing to Nyajas' limp figure. "Determined to damn us all!"_

"_The Count does call her!" Another yelled. "Near the house I hear the howls of a wolf! A wolf beneath her window!"_

"_She attempts to seduce my husband with her witchcraft!" A woman screamed, throwing a rock in Nyajas' direction. _

"_We cannot allow the Count to retrieve her! Only more destruction will come!" _

_Dry wood was thrown onto the wild forest fire of Atkozott's hatred. _

_As they finished their discussion, a dark stranger had already crept in among them. His words would remind Atkozott why the girl had been allowed to live after birth, even though she had been a sickly, troublesome infant. Atkozott would remember how they had willingly agreed to the sacrifices. The stranger would remind Atkozott of their bonds._

_Atkozott could not forget their bonds; they were chained to them by their own crave for survival._

_Atkozott was starved for survival. _

_And the stranger wondered aloud how many more times they would need to be reminded of the key to satisfying that craving. Meanwhile, he watched from the corner of his eye as a man slipped away with the girl, the key to Atkozott's survival. _


End file.
